


Gravity

by faithfulDiscord



Series: Ice and Stone [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Mycroft Holmes, M/M, Self-Worth Issues, Top Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfulDiscord/pseuds/faithfulDiscord
Summary: It was nice. Mycroft didn't want it to change but something always did.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Ice and Stone [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919272
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> NEXT INSTALEMENT I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT!! Kudo and comment guys, really. It gives me life. <3

"Sir, there is DI Lestrade on line one." Mycroft's assistant Anthea says quietly over the intercom in his office. 

His paperwork will have to wait for now. Sherlock has been unusually quiet for a while and Mycroft has a feeling Lestrade is about to give him an idea of what mayhem his younger brother has no doubtably caused.

Mycroft picks up the receiver. "Holmes."

"Oh." It's a soft sound of surprise. "I didn't actually think you'd pick up. Your assistant just patched me through. It wasn't actually all that important."

Maybe nothing about Sherlock then, Mycroft muses to himself.

"Yes, Detective Inspector?"

He maybe hears a faint sound of amusement. "None of that now. We know each other don't we? You _can_ call me Greg or at the very least Lestrade."

Sentimentality.

The word rings through his head, it sounds like Sherlock. He waves the thought away.

"Very well. Yes, Lestrade? Is there a point to this call?" He lets himself drawl as he talks, this is probably the most stimulating thing he's done all day.

"Oh right. Wanted to thank you for the help on the last case while your brother was abroad. It was a huge help and I wanted to offer you a drink as thanks."

He knows if he says no Anthea will swiftly be on his case about being a recluse and if he says yes the conversation will happen but it will be a lot shorter. 

"Do you have a place in mind?"

There's a second of silence on the other end that speaks volumes about Greg's surprise but he quickly regains himself.

"Of course! There's a small hole in the wall near the yard. It's usually quiet."

"McCallisters, fairly well. I'm free tomorrow after 5." 

His smile is heard through the phone, Mycroft can see it clearly in his mind's eye. "Perfect. I'll see you there then. I better be off, your brother just came into the building. Have to corral him before he starts harrassing my team."

Mycroft finds himself smiling the smallest bit at the mental image of Sherlock being physically moved around by Greg. "Good luck with your endeavours. Have a good day, Lestrade."

"Thank you and you too, Holmes."

* * *

As told, the bar is quiet when Mycroft walks in. Soft music plays over the intercom and the other patrons huddle in booths away from prying eyes. He finds Lestrade in one, idly scrolling through his phone. His posture is relaxed if a little tired, just got off shift then. He has a pint of a domestic beer by his hand, clearly a sign that today wasn't a bad day at the yard. He's glad to see there is very little condensation on the glass stating he hasn't been waiting long. 

"Holmes it's not polite to stare." His tone is playful when he looks up from his phone. The look on his face makes Mycroft feel like he got caught with his hand in a sweets container. 

He feels a slight flush on his neck but is able to thankfully tap it down to keep it off his face. 

"Apologies. I wasn't staring for long if it's any consolation." Mycroft moves to sit across from the detective.

Greg waves the apology off with a fine flick of his wrist. "The stare of a Holmes has a very distinct feel. I just have more practice feeling it than most."

He watches Lestrade stretch to grab a drink menu, holding it out to Mycroft to take. "Get what you want. I owe you at least twenty drinks at this point but I'm hoping the one might suit you for now."

* * *

He finds himself talking and relaxing in Greg's presence as the night goes on. He knows it's not the drink, the ice in his scotch has melted completely about an hour ago. Lestrade is a grand storyteller, he pauses where it is optimal, he gestures but it's not for flair, it adds to the stories, and his expressions are truly divine. Mycroft could listen and watch him for hours.

There is a small lull in the conversation but it's a gentle silence, easily broken but precious in it's own right. 

"Thank you again for the help. I know you don't exactly do field work, whatever that means," Greg laughs and rolls his eyes, "anymore but you were brilliant. Definitely a lot nicer to my team than the great consulting prat is."

Even with him insulting Sherlock, Mycroft still sees the gentle affection in the creases near his eyes. He's glad to see it, Sherlock needs more than just himself looking after him.

"It was a non-issue, Lestrade. I was the reason Sherlock was out; I felt at least mildly obligated to lend a helping hand. The experience was interesting. I now have a better understanding why my brother does what he does at the very least."

"Glad I could be of assistance." Greg's smile is everything. It's warm and inviting, he's glad he came out tonight.

* * *

He wants to say he doesn't know how he ended up here. Wants to be ignorant about the events that unfolded but he can't. Mycroft knows he's too smart for that, he can't delude himself. He knows _exactly_ how it happened.

* * *

That one pleasant night became something of a habit. A free night alone at home became something to be treasured, a quiet night at McCallister's with Greg. Sharing stories and complaining about Sherlock. It was nice. Mycroft didn't want it to change but something always did.

The night started the same but Mycroft knew something was off with Lestrade the moment he came into view. 

His hair was mused, as if he ran his fingers through it too much. The stain of ink on his hand shows he was writing reports up until the last minute. The immediate order of a shot of vodka does more to show his mental state but it's different this time around. It isn't a tired need to relax, there is a coiled tension that's ready to burst. 

"Come on." Lestrade motions for Mycroft to follow once he slams down his glass and tosses a couple notes on the bar. They stop at the door and he watches as Greg pulls out a box of cigarettes and lights it once it's in his mouth. His hands shake while his leg bounces as he puffs steadily. A couple of drags later, Greg does something Mycroft doesn't quite expect. 

He offers the cigarette to Mycroft. There's more to the offer than just the cigarette with how Greg's lip rises minutely at a corner. A challenge but also a question. He answers in kind, a similar expression on his face as he takes the offer and puts it to his lips. Mycroft holds the smoke for longer than Greg, sometimes he misses the rush of nicotine so he savors the last couple drags. 

The whole time he feels Lestrade's eyes on him. The endless motion of his hand stops and so does the bounce of his leg but the coiled, barely held back action in his back is still there. He keeps his eyes forward but he can't help but wonder what he needs to do to make that control snap. He smokes until the filter and puts it out on the stone wall of the building behind him.

Greg is closer now, leaning into Mycroft's space just the smallest bit. He can feel the heat that radiates off Lestrade. 

"Come back to mine." It's said quietly but it isn't a question. Not really. Greg needs this to get himself sorted but Mycroft also knows that if he declined it wouldn't be taken personally.

"Lead the way, Gregory."

* * *

His back collides against the door of Greg's flat, Lestrade is close but they are only connected by his hand on Mycroft's chest, holding him in place. 

"Tell me you want this." There's a desperate air to him but Mycroft let's him continue. "That I'm not reading this wrong. No word games or deductions. Just yes or no. Do you want this Mycroft?"

He should lie and tell him no, to back out of the tiny apartment and go back to normal but he presses into Lestrade's hand on his chest and answers. "Yes." 

Lestrade tips forward as if going for a kiss but stops himself a bare couple centimeters away. "You're a good man Mycroft and I don't want to hurt you. I want your companionship, if you're willing to give it to me but nothing more. Please, I beg of you, _please_ don't fall in love with me…"

_Because I won't be able to love you back_ is unspoken but clearly there. He finds that Greg is waiting on an answer, some sign to move forward, even with the warning that Mycroft still wants to be here. Mycroft knows that for his mental health and his very fragile heart, he should leave and just stay friends with Lestrade but he can't get himself to, even still. He moves for the first time during this whole encounter, he moves his fingers through Greg's hair and finds it just as soft as he hoped. He applies the gentlest of pressures to bring Lestrade forward and meets him in the middle.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped but it's nice. He feels the tension in Greg's shoulders release as he presses Mycroft bodily into the door behind him. The firm warm line of Greg's body on his is intoxicating in the best way. Rough hands grab and pull at Mycroft's clothes, first to direct them both to a small bedroom and then they slow the slightest to finally get underneath the layers of armour that Mycroft has crafted around himself. The only item of clothing left on his body are his silk boxers when Greg finally stops moving and sits down on his bed to look at _all_ of him.

His soft middle, those dastardly spots on his shoulders and hips, the line of hair on his stomach that is even more ginger than what he has left on his head.

Mycroft feels vulnerable under his intense gaze, he hates how he feels the heat of a blush run up his neck up to his ears. He can't even imagine what Greg sees in him. He has to look away lest he embarrass himself more. 

"There you are." It's a quiet statement but it echoes in Mycroft's head. He's moved forward by Greg's hands gently on his hips. The soft feeling of lips on his chest jolts him but the grip that Lestrade has on him keeps him in place. He finds himself unprepared for the softness thrust upon him by Gregory, the way his lips move over his skin, all the while his thumbs trace small circles into his hips. He forgot the last time someone was this slow and almost tender with him.

"Mycroft." His breath brushes against his shoulder. "I need you under me. I need a warm body that will take me and _squirm_ until I hold them down. I need to hear you moan and even beg if you're so inclined. It's been such a gloriously shit day and I need this. Next time, you'll have full rein but right now that's what I need from you."

His voice is gravel but his hands, _oh his hands_ , are soft and exploratory. Mycroft knows that he'd let Greg do anything as long as he kept touching. 

"Yes." It's barely out of his mouth before he's quickly gathered and turned. The world rushes just for a quick second while he is laid out in Lestrade's bed. 

He sees the frenzy of Gregory's hands on his own clothes. The pop of the last button shows his impatient as does the small vocalization that sounds like a growl. His shirt has only just hit the floor before he is on Mycroft again. This kiss is different, teeth are now at play, his tongue is almost rudely shoved into the others mouth. He needs obedience, not a fight for dominance. Mycroft lets himself be overwhelmed by the DI; the scent of him, the sound of his breathing, his firm touches, and the pleasure of his mouth on him. He relaxes under the heat of Greg's body and feels the moment he realizes Mycroft isn't going to fight him. 

The tension Mycroft first saw when Greg entered the restaurant finally releases under his hands, the other man's body is lowered gently on top of him. Greg moves in a soft wave like a big cat slinking around in the heat of day. It's only when Mycroft feels the rough friction between the front of Greg's trousers and his cock does he pull away from the kiss. 

He pants in Greg's shoulder like he's drowning. The zing of pleasure from his groin is intoxicating with how rough it is. " _Greg_." He wants to beg but he can't seem to find the words quite yet. Mycroft knows that he'd never in his life been this quickly to become incoherent. His mental faculties are slowly shutting off one by one until he can't do anything but _feel_ and isn't that a glorious thing.

Greg pulls back even with Mycroft very much not wanting him too. The smile on his face lights up with amusement, Mycroft looks off to the side again feeling his cheeks flame hot once more. This man will be the death of him. The clinking of a belt draws his attention back though. 

His trousers drop to the floor with little preamble, he watches Greg's hand move over his side and hip in a sensual slide. Mycroft wants to pull him close again but he can't seem to move. He finds himself enraptured by Greg's small performance, especially when the other man _squeezes_ himself through his thin boxer shorts and moans into the empty air. 

" _Fuck_ , I love the way you look at me. Almost like you want to eat me alive." Another squeeze through his boxers and another moan but Greg then gives Mycroft a smile that is positively roguish, a little off center but still extremely handsome. "Or maybe you are the one that wants to be eaten."

Before Mycroft can moan his assent that he wants to be _devoured_ , Greg drops the rest of his clothing. The sight of his DI gorgeously erect while standing there without a care in the world, makes Mycroft's world cease to exist.

He _wants_.

He never wants anything, he is a selfless man in everything he does, he is known for his control and his emotionless state. He wants for nothing on a day to day basis but this, right now, he wants with all his being. 

Mycroft Holmes wants anything and everything Greg has to offer and all he has to do is wait.

He watches as Greg kneels on the corner of the bed, his skin feels hot just from his stare. “Everything off, Mycroft. Let me see.”

His hand shakes the smallest bit, he’s the British government for god's sake he shouldn’t be _shaking_ , but he can’t stop the trembling in his fingers as he grasps the last piece of fabric on his body and shimmies it down and off. The feeling of vulnerability washes over Mycroft in waves, the feeling of lying naked on Lestrade’s bed as the other man does nothing but stare makes him want to squirm and move away to cover himself but he knows he shouldn’t even dare to move. He lets himself have the small solace of turning his head away from Greg to hopefully gain his bearings once more. 

Gentle fingers come across his cheek bone, he doesn't let himself move into the comfort Lestrade is freely giving him. 

"Mycroft." His voice is soft and the rough feeling of his fingers brush against his cheekbone once again. He takes a deep breath before letting himself look at Greg. The smile he gives is bright and dangerously beautiful.

"For being the smartest person in the room, you are quite daft sometimes." The comment should sting, Mycroft should feel insulted, and full of righteous anger but how he says it is different than how anyone else has said it. It's reminiscent of how Greg lovingly refers to Sherlock as the Great Consulting Prat, it's an insult yes but it is fond. 

His fingers roam the topography of Mycroft's face. Going over his cheek bones, and jawline, up to tweak slightly at an earlobe and then lightly over crows feet and the lines on his forehead. "You're quite beautiful Mycroft and it's almost too good to be true that you're here in my bed let alone my life."

Mycroft can almost feel the words that have been thrown at him his whole entire life, tear at his throat to be spoken but they are quickly banished from his mind and body when Greg takes what is rightfully his. Gregory, his lovely DI, is over him again and takes his mouth as if he could wipe away the hateful words from his throat himself by just the dirty sensual slide of his tongue. His own body _burns_ to be used and to go offline with this gorgeous man.

He finds himself throwing out a hand to the bedside table, the draw was slightly open, he knows from last night. It had to be there. Simple, water based by the slight stain on the comforter. His questing fingers wrap around the small tube almost instantly but by the weight of the drawer he knows Greg's gun is in there as well. Safety is on, ammunition in a separate cabinet. He feels safe. 

His brain stalls at the feeling and he knows he needs to stop now or this night will not go how he desperately wants it to. Mycroft pulls back from Greg to put the tube in his hand. "Please."

Greg sits up to take the offered tube and leans over slightly to grab a pillow to put under Mycroft's hips. He finds himself mesmerized by the feeling of Greg's lips on his inner thighs, the stubble that grace's his face is just another sensation to catalogue and put away. The feeling of cool and slick fingers at his entrance is a welcome feeling, as is the slick slow glide of Greg's finger as he breaches him slowly. The pressure and fullness that accompanies is something Mycroft hasn't experienced in some time, he tries to relax into the feeling as Greg starts to move his hand. 

"Gorgeous." His voice is almost reverent as Mycroft fights the need to move as Greg positions another finger to join the other in his body. He braces for the sensation that is about to come, trying to relax and breathe while he can, he nods and that is when Mycroft feels the stretch and the slight burn. He doesn't realize he's moving with Greg's hand until there's a firm grip on his hip keeping him still. 

He doesn't know what he wants, his skin feels pulled tight and he needs with everything in his body. "Please."

"I know, beautiful. Just a little longer." Mycroft hears the whine he produced bounce off the walls when he feels Greg's third finger move into him. It's almost too much at once but it is also not enough, he wants it with his whole entire being. He wants to move and writhe and squirm to make Greg go faster but the grip on his hip tightens. Mycroft finds himself going off line completely at the mere thought of Greg leaving bruises on his skin. 

He needs to feel this, feel his grip on him, the weight of him, the bruises that will paint his body is colors and he knows he won't be able to stop touching them the next day. 

"Please. Greg, _please_."

Greg pulls away and shifts backwards. That is exactly the opposite of what Mycroft wants, he wraps his legs around his DI, hooking his ankles and squeezing, stilling Greg's movement. " _No_." 

He will not be left here to be mocked or berated for getting his hopes up. Not now. Never again.

His face, his with his aging wrinkles and the grey at his temples, is the only thing in his vision. "Oh, Mycroft." The gentle voice makes his earlier statement of him being rather daft come back a thousand fold. Shame curls low in his stomach just as heat floods his face for an entirely different reason than before. Greg, his incredibly smart Greg, knows exactly what happened and how to fix it. 

Lestrade lowers his body on top of Mycroft, the weight is solid and gorgeous. Gentle lips trail over the side of his neck while he whispers against his skin. "I'm going to take care of you. I'm not going anywhere."

Mycroft clings to him, he can't do much else but trust Greg is a man of his word. The clatter of the beside draw does little to draw his attention but the crinkle of foil near his head helps bring everything back to full clarity. 

He wasn't leaving. Just wanting to grab a condom. He wasn't going to leave. 

He forces himself to relax and open his eyes. Greg is smiling at him again but it is different. It's smaller this time and gentle. "There you are, gorgeous." There's a hand in his hair, smoothing it back. "Do you want to stop?"

"No. I'm okay..." He relaxes under him once more, letting himself unhook his ankles and arch into Greg to just feel his skin against his properly again. "Please continue, Greg."

Mycroft expects Greg to go back to where they were only moments ago but he doesn't. He kisses him, first just a gentle brushing of lips. The movement between them is rather chaste to begin with. He lets himself get lost in the simple contact, a nip of his bottom lip is all that he needs to let Greg take him over once more.

His blood feels like it's starting to heat up again as Greg takes his time to explore his mouth. He knows he's moving again, wanting to get closer, he knows he's whining and moaning with each slide of Greg's tongue, but he doesn't care. He wants more, wants Greg and everything he's willing to give. 

Greg is the one to pull back but not very far this time. "Ready?"

He nods frantically and within moments he feels the head of his cock at his entrance, the slide in is slow and controlled. It takes his breath away, he wants to arch into him, make it go faster but he'd transfixed on Greg's face. He pants quietly, there's a tension near his eyes like he wants to close them but he doesn't. He watches Mycroft. The ginger man let's himself show his pleasure for once. He moans as Greg goes deeper, he moves his hips from side to side, he bears down and makes a choked off sound as Greg is fully seated within his body.

"Tell me when to move, Mycroft." His voice is strained but in absolute control. 

Mycroft moves the slightest bit and breathes for a couple moments, he needs to regain his bearings, preparing himself to lose himself. He runs his fingers through Greg's hair once more. "You can move."

The moving of Greg's hips is a slow roll at first, barely pulling out to sink back in. He shifts his weight before doing it again, he watches Mycroft, waiting for the reaction that will make everything worth it. The pleasure of when Greg gets it right is amazing and carnal. He screws his eyes shut and nods, "There there there." 

A soft sound comes from Greg's chest and rumbles through the whole and Mycroft before he can say anything about Greg _laughing_ at him, he picks up the pace. It's no less deep or powerful but at a pace that takes his breath away. The only words on his lips and in his mind begin and end with Greg. 

"Hold on to me, love." Mycroft doesn't question it, he hooks his ankles over his back and grips his forearms behind his lovely DI's neck. He feels more than he sees Greg's arms going under his own to grip at his shoulders to hold him close and hold him in place. 

Gregory Lestrade fucks like he is meant to do this. Every movement of his hips into Mycroft's body is designed to create the sweetest sounds, between the sharp thrusts to the deep grinds as if savoring the feeling. His grip on Mycroft's shoulders tightens to bring him closer as he moves with more purpose. 

Mycroft is almost screaming out his pleasure, his toes are constantly curled, and he has shifted to digging his short nails into Greg's strong shoulders and back. He feels like he is dying but all he wants is more. The only words on his lips are yes. 

"Come for me, Mycroft. Come on. Give it to me." The growl of Greg's voice completely in his ear is what tips him over. White spots cloud his vision as he arches and tightens everything through his release. The low groan and distant heat tells Greg followed him over into nirvana.

The white spots in his eyes finally dissipate, he's distantly aware of soft lips and stubble running along his neck and shoulders. A low voice barely audible rings out in the darkness but Mycroft finds himself unbothered. He lets his legs fall and cards his fingers through his DI's short hair and breathes. 

A shiver runs through his body when Greg moves up and off him. His now flaccid cock comes out of him and makes him sigh at the sensation. Thankfully Greg doesn't dawdle and comes back with a wet flannel to wipe up Mycroft. There are very little words spoken between them but there doesn't seem to be a need for them. Greg cleans up and comes back to the bed to pull Mycroft to him, holding him close to his chest. 

Mycroft is slowly drifting in no time with the beat of Greg's heart under his head. He knows he has time to file everything away in the morning. This will be a memory to remember for a lifetime. 

"Sleep. I'll make breakfast." With Greg's final words, Mycroft gently drifts into darkness.

* * *

He is slowly woken up by lips on his temple and the soft beautiful smile of Greg once his eyes are open and focused.

"Coffee or tea?" 

He answers without a thought, "Tea."

Greg kisses his forehead, "Coming right up. Sit up and get comfortable, I'll bring breakfast in soon."

Mycroft nods sleepily before grabbing Greg's shoulder to pull him down for a light kiss, morning breath be damned. 

The flush on Greg's face makes warmth settle into Mycroft's bones. He smiles back at him just for a moment. "Good morning, Gregory."

His smile is even more radiant than last night, "Good morning, Mycroft."

Mycroft basks in the presence of Greg and relaxes knowing he can keep this. At least for now.


End file.
